


Whispers of a Feather

by Nehasy



Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Post Series, introspective, series character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehasy/pseuds/Nehasy
Summary: Eries ponders a feather given to her by Folken





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Vision of Escaflowne or any of the characters. Not making any money so don't sue.  
> This was written for the ESS 2016 Secret Santa, for Pethics who wanted an Eries/Folken fic. I've never written Eris before but she always came across as very formal and a tad melodramatic to me, so I hope that came across in her dialogue. All in all, it was fun to write and I look forward to the next challenge.

                The feather felt so light in her hands, it might as well have been made out of air.  Gently, she traced her fingertips along the shaft, marvelling at its silken texture, noting how it seemed to almost shimmer with pearlescent radiance.  Though she considered herself to be a well-educated woman, she had no idea what sort of bird could ever have shed such an amazing feather.  Hours had been dedicated to researching it, trying to figure out exactly what Folken had been telling her when he’d given it to her all of those years ago.

                “This was given to me by one of the rarest creatures on Gaea.”  He’d said, his gentle voice whispering across her ears like the softest of velvet.  “Now I give it to you.  Guard it well, for you hold my heart in your hands.” 

She’d never understood that cryptic remark but it still never failed to draw a smile from her lips at the beauty of those words.  How utterly like him, cloaking himself in mystery, presenting a living breathing puzzle for her to understand all the while hiding so many of the pieces from her.

Had she a lifetime to understand him, she would still die in vexation and oddly enough, that intrigued her as nothing else could.  Who would have thought that a young barbarian prince could have been such a poet in his heart?  Certainly not her, and to this day, she still recalled her strident refusal to so much as entertain the notion of betrothal to the Fanelian prince.

 

_“It will be a strong match!”  Her father, Grava Aston had argued, his loud voice overriding any of her impassioned protests.  “He is heir to a strong country known for their military prowess, something which we are sorely lacking my dear.”  His thick bejewelled fingers had stroked his long moustache as he spoke, those calm blue eyes of his glittering in victory, no doubt already seeing a proud strong Astoria supported by the powerful Fanelian army.  “While yes, I do concede that they are a little… rough, I’m sure that as a woman, you could bring an appropriate level of elegance to their country.”_

_She’d been furious and disgusted at the very prospect of marrying an uncouth barbarian.  Growing up, she’d heard tales of the fierce warriors, living in their rough country surrounded by dragons.  How they would fight the great beasts in order to rescue their chosen maidens, or defend their borders against the vicious beast-men who always sought to prey upon civilized human settlements.  As a young princess, the tales had terrified and fascinated her, but once she’d grown up and seen the truth, the reality of her predicament became so much more worrisome._

_The very concept of battle appalled her on a visceral level.  Why would a person, any person in their right mind seek to end the life of another?  It brought nothing but suffering into the world, and yes, while she understood that her own precious country had been founded on death and betrayal, it had always been taught as a life lesson rather than an act to be glorified.  Yet here her beloved father was… was selling her off to these vicious brutes like chattel!_

_“You would have your daughter live in a glorified mud hut, devouring the flesh of innocent beasts for sustenance?”  She’d argued passionately.  “Why not Marlene?  Why must I suffer this indignity?”  Her words fell on deaf ears, no doubt her father was ignoring the “silly bleating of womanly histrionics.” as he so lovingly put it.  No, arguing like a child wouldn’t allow her to escape this fate.  She was a princess and had a duty to her crown and her people, no matter how loathsome it might be._

_“I am seeking a match between Marlene and Duke Mahal dal Freid.”  He’d replied patiently, speaking in the tone of voice he usually reserved for Millerna, her younger sister.  “With that match and yours, we’ll control most of eastern and central Gaea.  It will mean unrivalled power for Astoria, and more importantly, protection._

_There was no need to point out how vital such a goal was in this day and age.  Basram and Egzardia had been increasingly hostile to each other, moving steadily towards open aggression.  As their southern neighbours, it was only a matter of time before Astoria became involved.  Rumour even whispered that the reclusive and secretive Zaibach Empire was stirring in its shadows.  No doubt, her father intended to marry young Millerna into one of the three countries, further securing their borders against the other two._

_While agreeing to the arrangements disgusted her deeply, she understood her father’s actions and allowed herself a gentle sigh of resignation._

_“At least allow me to meet the man I’m to marry.  Let me look the barbarian in the eyes so that I might take his measure.”  Her father laughed in delight at her words, no doubt believing that in a short matter of time, she would be the power behind Fanelia’s throne, as he’d intended all along._

_The country had been exactly as she’d expected; isolated, wild and not for the weak of heart.  The capital city bore the same name as the country as well as the royal family… thus proving that creativity was not a Fanelian trait._

_King Goau Fanel was also as expected.  Tall, heavily muscled and bearing a shrewd yet grizzled appearance, his stern face was marked with many scars as well as the weight of the crown.  His eyes however burned with a strange ferocity which rivalled that of the lands legendary dragons._

_At his side sat Queen Varie, his utter opposite in every way.  She radiated an odd sense of serenity and calm, practically glowing in her tranquil beauty.  There was a strangeness to her, an otherworldly aura which drew the eye, yet when she smiled, it calmed the heart and encourage you to smile with her._

_On her lap was a small black haired boy, full of light and happiness.  He giggled as he squirmed, making a game of trying to slip from his perch and no doubt go off running amok.  While he clearly favoured his father’s darker coloring, there was an echo of his mother’s beauty in the shape of his face and eyes.  No doubt one day he would be exactly what young women pictured when imagining a Fanelian warrior king._

_Standing in the shadows, watching her with as much trepidation as she watched him, was Folken Lacour de Fanel, heir to the crown and her betrothed.  Tall like his father, he however bore his mother’s slender form and gentle face.  Kind sienna eyes watched her cautiously, the spark of hope glittering in their depths and she knew in that moment that he was just as nervous as she was._

Her fingers trailed along the delicate feather once more, watching the play of colours shift and dance at her touch.  Who could have known that white had so many different shades?  It was almost mesmerising in its beauty and it seemed to radiate the love and gentle soul of the man who’d gifted it to her.

Slowly, her eyes drifted over to the second feather resting in her lap.  Reverently, her fingers picked it up, placing it next to its brother.  Two feathers, identical in size and shape and yet so different that it was heartbreaking.  This one was black, deeper than the glistening ever shifting darkness of raven’s wings.  Unlike the first, it felt cool in her hands and heavier, as if the weight of the world were pressing down on it.  Rather than reflecting a myriad of tones at her touch, it seemed to drink in the colours around it, drawing them in and muting them with its darkness.

It should have seemed threatening, but instead, all she felt was melancholy.  Her first feather had been given with the promise of life and unity everlasting.  This one had been a farewell from a man she’d long ago thought dead and lost.

_“This feather was given to me by one of the rarest creatures on Gaea.”  Folken had said softly, his eyes sad as they stared into hers, speaking volumes that she feared she’d never understand.  His voice was just as she’d remembered, as rich as the softest velvet, yet full of resignation, sadness and… oddly, hope.  It had pulled at her soul to hear it and she knew deep in her heart that he was saying goodbye to her one final time.  “Now I give it to you.  Guard it well, for you hold my life in your hands.”_

_He’d placed it in her palm and gently closed her fingers over it.  Only his true hand touched hers, the twisted mechanized thing which was his right hand stayed hidden beneath his cloak, loathe to touch her tender flesh._

_“Don’t leave.” S he’d breathed softly.  “Stay with me, let us have the life fate denied us.”  It sounded like something a silly heroine from one of Millerna’s books would say rather than the plea of a proper princess, but her lips formed the words on their own volition, guided by her heart rather than her head.  “Let us have one moment of happiness before it all ends.”_

_His smile had been so sad and yet so full of love as he’d leaned forward and kissed her.  It felt… like home to her, filled with sweet comfort she’d always denied within herself._

_“Live for me.”  He whispered gently.  “I’ve lived too long in the darkness to be part of your light.  Make your fate is your own, fight for it, cherish it and help rebuild this world.  Lead it towards the peace you hold in your heart and never forget the man I once was, or who I became.”_

_She’d stood there in the garden, holding the two feathers in her hands while he left her to save the world from the brink of madness.  The sky had been coated with emerald light, poisoning the souls of Gaea with false promises of glory before burning with the madness of Basram, obliterating friend and foe alike in their quest for glory.  Still, she stared at the feathers, tears falling silently down her cheeks as she contemplated their beauty and their mystery._

_When they’d come to tell her that Folken had died fighting Emperor Dornkirk, she’d simply nodded her head and clutched the feathers to her chest, feeling the warmth and coldness radiating from them in a heartbeat, forever held on that precipice between one beat and the next._

“Draconians are not the cursed people.”  She whispered softly to the feathers in her hand.  “It is those they leave behind who bear the curse.  Those left to grieve.”  Closing her eyes, she once again held the feathers to her heart, feeling their conflicting natures and the lost promises trapped within their vanes.  Without a further word, she gently placed them in an elegantly carved box and slowly closed the lid, sealing them in the darkness for another year.

**Author's Note:**

> Awwww so cute, the feels! now back to my blood gore and angst.


End file.
